


Delay of game

by labellementeuse



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Orgasm Denial, PWP, fuckbuddies-to-lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellementeuse/pseuds/labellementeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon starts making himself wait when he’s a teenager. When he’s 20, Nick starts helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delay of game

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to armillarysphere for a generous and speedy beta, to aworldinside for a reassuring alpha read and to shihadchick for her detailed eye, her enthusiastic audiencing, the title and also her everything. 
> 
> This story takes place between around 2010-ish and early 2015 (so after the [second] Leddy trade and before the Saad trade). I have done a few fudges, especially early on, but deliberately kept things vague to avoid jarring errors; let me know if you spot one, though. There are no warnings for this story, but feel free to comment if you need to know anything in particular, or email me, labellementeuse at gmail.

Brandon starts making himself wait when he's a teenager. After he starts getting billeted places, getting more than five minutes of private time to jerk off feels like a treat, so he starts stretching it out. He varies the pace, touching himself slowly for a while, or squeezing instead of stroking. He tries pulling back a little, pulling his hands away from his dick for ten seconds, twenty, a minute while he's watching porn. After a while he starts challenging himself – touches himself for five minutes without coming, or makes himself fantasize for ten minutes before he can touch himself. He looks at the clock in the corner of the beat-up laptop screen and makes himself wait for the clock to tick over to the next ten minute interval, or fifteen minute, or – after he's been doing it for a while, and when his billet family's all out and he knows he's got time – the next hour.

He doesn't do it all the time. After what he's pretty sure is the usual amount of experimentation he's figured out he could probably come twice in the time he can take to come once, so when he's in a hurry he doesn't bother waiting. And he's mostly in a hurry. If it's not his billet mom knocking on his door it's Tro coming back to the room, or coach banging on the motel door yelling "Hands off cocks! On with socks! Let's go, boys," trying to get them all out of bed and on the road. So Brandon guesses he's pretty predictable, and he can get off in a hurry with the best of them when he feels like it.

He doesn't always feel like it, though. Waiting satisfies something deep down in him, like he's worked hard for his orgasm. One time he makes himself wait for an hour, touching himself occasionally, flipping through porn blogs, getting worked up. When he finally lets himself come he feels like he’s coming for a minute, back arching, and he settles back down limp and shaking.

*

It stands him in good stead when he starts hooking up with girls; he gets a reputation for being considerate and having good stamina, which he uses shamelessly to get laid all the time, much to Tro's disgust. Guys don't seem to notice, and Brandon finds he waits less with guys generally; but hooking up with guys in bathrooms or on the road lends itself less well to taking his time than his usual hook-ups with girls, anyway.

"I don't see what they go on about, really," Tro says, rolling off Brandon to stare up at the ceiling, panting. "Wham, bam, thank you, man – that's you."

"Maybe I just want to spend more time with them than I do with you," Brandon says, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. "Get the light, will you?"

"And then you're asleep 30 seconds later," Tro says. Brandon slits an eye open to see him shaking his head, but he gets off the bed to turn the light off, and a few seconds later Brandon feels him climbing under the covers and slinging an arm over his waist.

*

He starts hooking up with Nick in Rockford. He's a little starstruck; Nick is an NHL player, really, slumming it in Rockford with Krugs and Shawzy, and it's not like Brandon exactly feels like part of the team yet anyway. But Nick fits right in and Brandon soon figures out he's kind of a dork, quiet, calm. Brandon might feel some kinship.

Also, he's pretty cute and, Brandon eventually discovers, pretty amazing at sucking dick. Brandon swears at the ceiling when Nick goes down, flinging an arm over Brandon’s stomach and swallowing his dick almost in one motion; he doesn't even have time to think about making it last before he's coming, pretty hard considering.

"Stamina much?" Nick says, coming up and wiping his mouth, and Brandon shoves at him.

"I'll give you stamina," he says, and Nick just grins, spreading his legs to let Brandon get a hand on his dick.

*

It's pretty convenient to hook up with a guy on his team, so they do it again, and then again, and then it sort of becomes a regular thing, and Brandon spends more time than is probably discreet in Nick and Jimmy's room, waiting for Jimmy to head out, or texting Nick the second Clendo walks out the door. The second time Brandon is less embarrassingly quick off the mark, and he puts some effort into taking turns at coming first, but he's still in dude hook-up mode, especially given the circumstances. One night, though, Nick sneaks up behind Brandon at the bar, early in the night, and says in his ear, "Let's go home early." His beard tickles Brandon's ear, and he grins, twisting round. Nick raises his eyebrows at him, and Brandon says, "Uh, yeah. Good idea."

Nick drove, and apparently he's been planning this because he's sober, though it's early enough that that's not really remarkable; Brandon's only had a couple. He swings into the passenger seat. Nick glances across at him, quickly, and Brandon stares back. Nick looks back to the road. Brandon does too, swallowing; the car feels hot despite the fact that it's January. He lets his hand fall to the front of his jeans and rubs himself slowly. Nick, looking across again, says, "Fuck," and then "You better not blow before we even get back."

"I can wait," Brandon protests, and he wants to, suddenly. He wants to feel the burn all the way back to the motel, wants to get Nick off slowly, wants to wait the whole time.

"Sure you can," Nick says, and Brandon shrugs, but doesn't stop touching himself. Nick can find out.

They get back to the motel fast enough Brandon's almost disappointed, but when they get inside and get their clothes off Nick grabs him and kisses him slowly enough that Brandon can relax into it, getting his hands on Nick's ass and squeezing. Brandon walks Nick backwards to the bed and tips him over on to it, and Nick sprawls out wide, grinning, and beckons him.

Brandon crawls on top of him and dips down to kiss him again, rubbing off on his leg without urgency; after an extended period of making out, Nick reaches a hand down to cup Brandon's dick and says "I guess you can wait after all."

"Hmm," Brandon says, nosing his way down Nick's neck to bite at his collar bone. "Told you."

"Well," Nick says, and he sounds suddenly unsure enough that Brandon pulls his head up to look at him, "If you can wait a bit longer I thought maybe you could fuck me tonight."

"Um," Brandon says, mind whiting out a bit. "Um. Yeah? If that's – yeah?" He blinks a little, and says, "I haven't done that before, but. Please?"

Nick’s breath comes out in a woosh. "I figured," he says, relaxing a bit. "Do you, um, you know how it goes?"

"Pretty sure," Brandon says, and tries to get his brain back into one piece. "Do you have stuff?"

Nick wriggles out from under him and fumbles in the nightstand drawer, coming up with lube and a condom, both of which he flicks in Brandon's direction. Nick ends up back on his back, looking up at Brandon, and Brandon reaches out to pet his thigh. "Like this?" he asks, and Nick says, "Yeah. I like it," and Brandon says, "Good."

He's still hard, but he feels it in kind of a distant way as he uncaps the lube and slicks up the fingers on one hand. He gets one finger into Nick, and it shouldn't be so different from the times he's done it to himself, but it is, somehow; he's nervous and turned on and Nick is moving under him and, fuck, around him in completely unpredictable ways. One finger is easy, so he says, "Should I," and Nick says, "Yeah," and he adds a second finger, twisting them in and crooking them until he finds Nick's prostate and gets Nick to moan out loud, biting his lip and flushing all down his chest. Brandon works two fingers for a long while, sort of zoning out on watching Nick twist and gasp and start to sweat; eventually, Nick grabs his wrist and says, "Okay, you've impressed me. You can, you know. Fuck me now."

"If you insist," says Brandon, and his dick becomes relevant again as he rips the condom open and rolls it on. The need to come gets insistent when he slicks up, but he bites his lip a bit, tells himself to wait and eventually manages to get to a point where he doesn't feel like he's going to pop as soon as he gets inside Nick. He wants to kiss Nick, suddenly, so he bends over and does so, and Nick gets a hand in his hair and kisses back wetly before shoving him up and saying, "Before I die of old age."

"Yessir," Brandon says, and slides in. He gasps, and Nick gasps, and Brandon drops his head forward, breathing hard and telling himself to wait, wait. He's not helped by Nick grabbing his ass and saying "C'mon, c'mon," but he starts to move, slowly at first and then faster until he can't even try to kiss Nick any more but has to lean over him, resting his weight on his hands.

He manages to wait long enough for Nick to come, but it's a close thing, and after he pulls out and deals with the condom he curls up into Nick, shivering. Nick wraps a warm arm around his shoulders and kisses his ear, and Brandon falls asleep without a further thought.

*

Nick wakes him up a couple of hours later and sends him back to his own room, but it's days before Brandon can stop thinking about it, and he's not helped by Nick catching him in the showers after everyone's gone the next day and jerking him off hard and fast, or by Nick pulling him into a store cupboard two days after that to exchange hasty blowjobs.

"Shit," Brandon says, panting, after he's come like a rocket, as is beginning to seem usual with Nick.

In the dark of the cupboard he feels Nick's hand brushing across his arm and then patting his chest gently. "That'll do," Nick says, and laughs.

"Yeah, yeah," Brandon says.

"You're so much quieter after I make you wait," Nick says, "I should really do that again," and Brandon can barely muffle a groan.

He goes hot with embarrassment and Nick goes silent for a moment.

"Wait," Nick says, "Really?"

Brandon shrugs, before remembering Nick can't really see him. "I guess," he mutters.

Nick says, "Huh."

The next day, the lockout ends.

*

The lockout ends and Brandon actually gets called up, and then he's actually playing in games, he's actually playing on a line with Jonathan fucking Toews and Marian fucking Hossa, and although he thinks he's doing an okay job of looking chill about it he still can't help freaking out for a while. So it's a few weeks before he finds himself at Nick's place one night, texting him from the ground floor of his apartment building to see if he's home.

yeah come on up, Nick texts back, and Brandon rubs his suddenly-sweaty hands on his pants.

He rides the elevator up trying to blank out his mind and calm down, and he's pretty much there when he knocks on Nick's door.

It swings open and Nick's standing there in a thin tee and jeans, hair sticking up, looking relaxed and assured. It's only been a few hours since Brandon saw him at the rink, but the context is ... different, and Brandon's suddenly really aware that it's been weeks since they fucked, weeks since he had time to do more than jerk off in the shower.

"Hi," Nick says.

"Hi," Brandon says, and walks forward. He shuts the door behind him and goes to his knees, pressing his mouth against the zipper of Nick's jeans, feeling his dick jump beneath them.

Nick coughs a bit, and then Brandon feels a hand in his hair. He opens his mouth, pressing forward, getting the front of Nick's jeans wet, and then the hand in his hair tightens and Nick's pulling his head back.

Brandon twists his head to look up, and Nick's looking back down at him. "I thought we were going to make you wait," Nick says, and Brandon has to shut his eyes, feeling his face get hot. "Yeah, I think so," Nick says, and then he says, "Come on."

Nick heads across his apartment to what Brandon guesses is his bedroom; Brandon's still there on his knees, staring at the wall and blinking, before he collects himself to stand and hurry after Nick.

When he gets to the bedroom Nick is stripping, and Brandon joins him, getting his clothes off. Nick eyes him appreciatively, then takes him by the shoulders and pushes him onto the bed.

"So," Nick says.

Brandon can feel himself starting to blush, but takes a deep breath, looking for the calm he usually has in good supply. "So," he says, and Nick grins, suddenly.

"How about I blow you and you try not to come?" Nick says.

Brandon's ears are hot. He's not doing so well with the calm. "Um," he says. "Um, yeah. That sounds good." He pauses, and says, "I haven't - you know, done this before. I mean," he adds, "I've had sex. Obviously. I mean, you know that. I mean, we've had sex."

Nick's laughing at him. "Yeah," he says, and leans in, kissing Brandon and running a hand down his side. Brandon sighs into it, and feels himself relaxing again. He reaches up to Nick, wraps an arm around him and they make out for a while. It's nice. Then Nick kneels his way onto the bed and slides a hand away from Brandon's waist and down to his dick, and Brandon feels heat slick straight up his spine.

Nick pulls away, then comes back in for a peck, surprisingly sweet. Then he kisses Brandon's throat, wetly and not at all sweetly, and starts sliding his way down Brandon's body. Nick kisses his chest, his belly, and then he's planting a filthy kiss on the tip of Brandon's dick and making him choke back a gasp. Nick's eyes flick up to meet Brandon's, and he says, "You can pull my hair or whatever," and then he ducks his head and starts sucking in earnest.

"Fuck," Brandon says, and gets his hands in Nick's hair, pretty much unable to resist. Nick moans when he tightens his fists, and Brandon shudders in response. "God," he says, and Nick redoubles his efforts, bobbing his head.

Brandon can feel himself sweating all over with the effort of not just coming his brains out immediately. Nick sucking his dick is not exactly like barely jerking off while watching porn; not coming pretty much right away feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done.

Eventually it gets too much, and he manages to spit out, "Wait – stop – I'm gonna –"

Nick pulls off right away, sitting back on his heels. He wipes his mouth, which is red and used; his face is red, too, and Brandon can see that he's hard, has one hand wrapped around his dick. Brandon's own dick twitches.

Nick knee-walks forward a little till he's sitting over Brandon's thighs. "Can you hold on?"

Brandon's still kind of focusing on Nick's dick, but he says, "I – yeah, I think so."

"You really like this?" Nick's eyes are darting between Brandon's dick, his face, and his hands, which Brandon belatedly realises he's twisted up in the sheets in an effort not to go for his dick.

Brandon swallows. "Yeah," he says. He couldn't get redder than he is right now, but if he could, he would. "It's intense," he says. "And putting it off makes coming really good."

"Really?" Nick looks dubious, and Brandon nods. "For me, anyway," he says.

"You get all twisted up, like you're working really hard." Brandon notices Nick's started stroking his own dick. "It's fucking hot, anyway."

"You like it?" Brandon says, kind of dumbly, because Nick is stroking faster and faster. "You should come on me," he says, inspired.

Nick grunts out a laugh. "That's the plan," he manages, and a few seconds later he is, in spurts over Brandon's dick and chest.

"Fuck," Brandon says, as Nick collapses forward.

"Mmhmm," Nick says. "Gimme a minute."

"Take your time," Brandon jokes, but he sort of means it. Nick is warm over him; Brandon's hard and turned on, but he can wait a little longer.

Nick gets himself together after coming far faster than Brandon does; it's only a minute or two later that he's sliding back down Brandon's body and getting his mouth on Brandon's dick again, come and all.

Brandon watches, mesmerised, as Nick licks a stripe up his dick, catching a drop of his own come before sealing his lips around the tip of Brandon's dick again. "Jesus fucking Christ," he says, and then he pretty much can't say anything for a while; he's sparing all his concentration not to come.

Nick works him close to the edge a couple of times, but it's not too much later that Brandon comes; he feels like he's been waiting forever anyway, and he bucks up off the bed, hips coming up and choking Nick. Nick gags and pulls off, swallowing and making a face, but strokes Brandon through it.

When he’s done, Nick wriggles up in the bed and tucks himself under Brandon's arm. Brandon draws him in, pressing his whole body up against him. He can barely keep his eyes open; focusing is a bit of a problem. Eventually he realises Nick's saying something, but he can't quite figure out what, and after a minute Nick rolls away and comes back with a warm, damp washcloth that he uses to clean Brandon off.

Brandon suffers the indignity, then makes grabby hands in Nick's direction until he climbs back into bed and snugs up against Brandon again. Brandon sighs, and goes happily towards sleep. The last thing he hears before he drops off is Nick's voice, rumbling through his chest: "Intense, huh?"

*

After that, making Brandon wait becomes ... not part of their routine, exactly, but also not exactly unusual. Some nights, chasing minutes without Shawzy or Boller around, they take it as fast as ever, but when they have time Nick starts drawing it out. Brandon's not totally sure what Nick gets out of it, but it's not nothing. He runs his hands through Brandon's hair when Brandon's twisting under him and saying "Please, please," petting him in a way that would probably be soothing if Brandon wasn't simultaneously desperate to come and desperate not to. 

"You can wait," Nick says, "can't you, B? Just a minute, now." 

Brandon can't see the clock Nick's looking at. He's half-convinced Nick is making him wait past the hour, he's almost sure of it; surely it was twenty minutes ago that Nick was telling him he had five minutes to wait. He can't decide if that idea is hot or not, Nick making him wait, arbitrarily, longer and longer, however long Nick wants. Nick finally starts stroking him, though, and when Brandon's allowed to come and flips over to see the clock he's almost disappointed to see it's right on the time they'd agreed.

They're dicking around one night in Brandon’s room on a road trip, taking advantage of Shawzy being out at a movie. Nick's already come, and he's got Brandon spread out on the bed, jerking himself off while Nick watches and occasionally gets his hands involved. "Stop touching yourself," he says, when Brandon gets close, and Brandon chokes a little but does, pulling his hands away. Nick picks Brandon's hands up and lifts them up to the headboard, curling Brandon's fingers around and saying, "Hold on here, eh?"

In other circumstances Brandon might feel vulnerable, spread out on the bed naked with his back a little arched. But he's far too focused on what Nick's doing, getting up to fumble in his bag. He comes back just with lube, though, and slicks up his fingers. He uses his dry hand to pat Brandon's legs and says, "Spread 'em."

Brandon shivers and does so, craning his neck up to see what Nick's hands are doing. Nick raises an eyebrow at him, and says, "Doing OK there, bud?"

"Uh-huh," Brandon manages.

"Yeah? You don't want to come?" Nick runs a teasing, slick finger up Brandon's dick, circles the head briefly; it's like a fucking bolt of pleasure directly to Brandon's spine.

"Fuck," he says.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

Nick takes his hand away, and Brandon's hips jerk up to follow his hand. "Unh," Brandon says. "Fuck. I don't – how long?"

Nick shrugs. "Haven't decided," he says easily, and Brandon's dick twitches. Nick notices, and grins at him. "Let's see, eh?" he says, and works a couple of lubed-up fingers into Brandon.

The burn helps a little, distracts Brandon from the thought running around in his head: _he hasn't decided, he hasn't decided, another ten minutes? Another hour?_ Soon enough, though, the burn goes, and then it's just Nick's fingers twisting sweetly in him, brushing his prostate with tantalising irregularity, and Brandon's sweating hard and saying stuff he's honestly not sure about.

Nick smiles down at him, uses his free hand to brush Brandon's hair back from where it's stuck to his forehead, and leans over to kiss him. Brandon kisses back, helplessly.

"You're doing so good," Nick says, and Brandon makes some kind of agonised noise that makes Nick laugh at him. "Hey," Nick says, twisting his fingers, "Can you come like this?"

Brandon tries to get his brain together enough for coherent sentences. "I'm not sure," he says. "I never have before, but ..." he flexes his hips, pushes back on Nick's fingers. "Right now? Probably."

"Shame," Nick says, and slides his fingers out.

"Oh, god," Brandon says, and thrusts down onto empty air. "Fuck, fuck," and one hand comes away from the headboard, reaching for his dick like a fucking reflex. But Brandon is a goddamned professional athlete, and his body does what he tells it to, so he gets his hand back up.

Nick didn't miss the internal drama. There's a look in his eyes that makes Brandon's stomach swoop, and he says, "Do you want to?"

Brandon manages to roll his eyes. "Um, duh," he says, and Nick says, "Okay, baby. Soon."

It's not the kind of specificity Brandon would like, but the endearment warms him right down to his toes – or it would if he wasn't already flushed hot, burning. Nick leans over him again and kisses him, sweetly, before wrapping his hand around one of Brandon's and dragging it down to Brandon's dick. He uses their combined fist to start jerking Brandon off. "Not yet," Nick warns. "Tell me if you're going to," and Brandon just pants.

Nick takes him to the edge a couple of times, backs off. If this is soon Brandon couldn't take later; he's not sure if it feels good or bad or what anymore, if he's boiling or freezing, just that he feels, in shudders.

He's beyond ready to come when fucking Shawzy fucking bursts into the fucking room, making both of them yelp and Nick dive for the covers.

"Fuck!" Nick says, as Brandon drags his hands up to cover his face, cringing. "Fucking knock, Shawzy. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"It's my room, asshole, and the movie's been over for hours," Shawzy says. "Hi, Saader. It's curfew, dickface," he returns to Leddy.

"No it's fucking not," Nick says, fishing around on the nightstand for his phone. "Oh."

Brandon wants to scream. Nick turns the phone towards him. Oh, yeah. Curfew. Great.

Brandon scrubs both his hands over his face briefly, then rolls himself out of bed and onto the floor. Between the shock of cold air and the shock of, well, Shawzy, he's not actively about to come or anything, so he yanks his pants on. Nick dresses fast, and Brandon gets up to follow him. Nick pauses at the door, anxiously, until Brandon comes over.

"Sorry," Nick mutters, low. "I'm so, so sorry."

Brandon reaches over, cups his cheek reassuringly – he's still too shy to make out in front of Shawzy, but he wants Nick to know that he wants to. "It's OK," he says, wryly. "I was pretty distracted myself."

Nick grins. "Tomorrow?" he says, but he starts shaking his head even before Brandon does; it's a game day followed by a late travel night.

"Day after," Brandon says, and Nick nods. "Can't wait," he says, and Brandon says, " _You_ can't wait?" Nick looks torn between amusement and guilt, and Brandon ruffles his hair. "Day after tomorrow," he says, like a promise. Nick nods, and opens the door; Brandon leans on the doorframe and watches him until he gets in the elevator, then swings the door shut. 

“You’re a motherfucker, Shawzer,” he says. Shawzer gives him the finger without looking away from his phone, and Brandon heads for the shower. 

*

Two days later Nick throws a pair of balled-up socks at Brandon’s head after practice. He bats them out of the way and makes a grossed-out face. “You’re disgusting,” he says.

“And don’t you forget it,” Nick says. He gets up to pick up his socks, and says to Brandon as he bends over, “Lunch?” He raises both eyebrows and grins.

Brandon tries to conceal a grin of his own. “Sure,” he says. “Text me when we get out of here.”

Nick nods, and heads back to finish dressing. 

Brandon checks his phone when he gets into his car. Two new messages, both from Nick. 

_We could go to that place you like_ , the first text says.

The second one says _Or we can order in at my place since I kicked Shawzy out._

_Um, the second one_ , Brandon texts back. _Five minutes._

He takes his time getting there but goes up the stairs two at a time. Nick’s actually waiting in the doorway for him; he backs up as Brandon approaches him so they can get the door shut, and Brandon shoves him against the wall and kisses him hungrily as soon as he hears it latch. Nick’s laugh gets muffled, but he goes easily enough, wrapping his arms around Brandon’s neck. Eventually Brandon pulls away far enough to ask “How far away is lunch?”

Nick digs in his pocket for his phone. “Still twenty minutes,” he says.

“That’s enough time,” Brandon says, and leans back in.

Nick kisses back briefly, then gets a hand in Brandon’s hair and pulls him back slightly. “Eager much?”

Brandon gives him what he hopes is a very expressive look. “It’s been two days,” he says. “Two. Days. And you kind of had me worked up. I think I’ve waited long enough.”

“Wait, wait,” Nick says. He gets his hands on Brandon’s shoulders and pushes; Brandon takes a reluctant step back, and Nick starts walking them over to the couch. “Are you saying you haven’t jerked off?”

“No,” Brandon says, annoyed. “I was _waiting._ ”

“Holy fucking shit, that’s hot,” Nick says. 

“Maybe for you,” Brandon says, but if he’s honest, he agrees. He knows, if he really thought about it, that Nick didn’t expect him to wait, but when he’d gotten into the shower that night he’d gone to jerk off and found that he didn’t want to, quite. So he’d washed and gone to bed and waited that night, and the next morning in the shower he’d gotten himself hard and thought _let’s see if I can_ and waited all the next day. Outside the game he’s been on the edge of arousal pretty much the whole time. 

They back up against the couch, and Nick pulls him down. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, seriously. “You know you didn’t have to, right? I mean, it’s hot but I don’t want you to do anything that you’re not, you know.” He looks awkward, and finishes, “Comfortable with, or whatever.”

Brandon rolls his eyes. “I know that.” He feels himself going pink, but manages, “I liked it.”

“Fuck,” Nick says. He runs his hand down Brandon’s chest and cups his dick, which is hard, has pretty much been hard since Brandon got in the building. Brandon sighs into it, and shudders as Nick unzips his jeans and starts stroking him. “You like that?” Nick says, and Brandon says, “Mmf,” letting his eyes slide closed. 

“Yeah,” Nick says. “But, you know, I’m thinking if you liked waiting so much you can wait long enough for me to get off, right?” He keeps stroking.

“Holy shit,” Brandon says, “Are you fucking – _Nick_ ,” but he just keeps stroking and saying nothing. Brandon could probably push it, but he’s suddenly back where he was two nights ago, just like that: desperate to come, desperate not to, and he’s crawling onto the floor and between Nick’s legs before he can even think about it. 

“Shit,” Nick says, and gets his hand in Brandon’s hair, pulling his head back far enough that he can undo his pants and take his dick out. “Here,” he says, fisting his dick and offering it with one hand. Brandon lips at the head of his dick, gently, before taking it into his mouth. He knows how Nick likes it by now, wet and drooling; he looks up, meeting Nick’s eyes as he goes down to meet Nick’s fingers, liking how it makes Nick swear.

After a while he gets own hand up, batting Nick’s away, and really goes to town, sloppily, and after that it doesn’t take long before Nick’s tugging his hair and saying, “I’m gonna–”

Brandon hums and goes down as far as he can, liking the way Nick gasps above him, liking the hot spurt at the back of his mouth; on impulse he pulls back a little, lets the last pulse land over his lips and open mouth. He looks up, lips parted, come clinging to them, and Nick is staring at him with a glazed expression, breathing hard. 

Brandon licks his lips, self-consciously. He says, “Nick – please –” and Nick makes some kind of choked-off noise and reaches out to grab him and pin him down onto the couch. He kisses Brandon, which makes Brandon blush, and then wriggles down Brandon’s chest to grab his dick. “Hey,” Nick says. His voice cracks; he coughs, and goes on more clearly. “You’re amazing, and you can come whenever you want, okay?” And he brings his mouth to Brandon’s dick and goes down. 

It takes about twenty seconds for Brandon to come. Nick’s mouth is hot and wet and he’s not taking his time about it, sucking hard, and Brandon’s been waiting, and waiting, and waiting. He feels every minute of the wait when he comes, without any warning to Nick, bucking his hips and shouting. 

Nick sucks him through it, gently, and eases off just before Brandon gets too sensitive; he crawls back up the couch and Brandon turns his face into his chest, clinging a little. Nick wraps both arms around him, and Brandon shakes, quietly, in his arms until the buzzer goes for the delivery guy.

*

They keep fucking, and Brandon gradually gets used to being in the NHL, stops being freaked out when he looks to his right and sees 19 and 81, stops being weirded out by calling them Tazer and Hoss. He doesn't get used to the winning, which the Hawks are doing more than any other team he's ever played with, because he's pretty sure it can't possibly last, but man, is it fun.

He also gets used, sort of, to Nick – to fucking the same guy, regularly; to having the kind of sex with him he's never had with any other guy. With anyone, really. With the schedule the way it is Brandon doesn't have time to meet women, and Nick is right there all the time, good-looking and friendly and occasionally surprisingly sweet, surprising Brandon with pre-ordered breakfast when he's stayed over or bringing Brandon weird Chicago beers he thinks Brandon would like or showing Brandon pictures of his dog back in Minnesota. 

Then they win the Cup.

Brandon's pretty sure he can't get used to that; he's pretty sure it's impossible. Some of the veterans on his team tell him not to get used to it, not to think, as a rookie, that he'll get back here every year, and Brandon doesn't; he's had playoff eliminations before, he's lost things – an embarrassing World Junior loss that left them playing just to avoid relegation, two second-round losses in the O – but no win of his life really compares to this one, the perfect end to the perfect season.

"Yeah, well," Nick says, between grunts, as Brandon fucks him one morning. "What do you think the story would have been if we hadn't done it? If Seabs doesn't score that goal, if we go out in the second round to the Detroit fucking Red Wings. Half the team gets traded. Media up our ass..."

Brandon says, "I can't be doing this properly," and gropes for Nick's hips, lifting them up to try to change the angle.

Nick chuckles and starts making some noise that makes a little bit less sense, and Brandon grins down at him. "You're such a cynic," he says. "Enjoy it, man."

Nick groans a little, then shoves at Brandon's shoulder until he pulls back. "Flip," Nick says, and Brandon does, obligingly, so that Nick can straddle him and ease his way back down on to his dick. "Oh, yeah," Nick says, and Brandon says, "Fuck."

Nick tosses his head back above Brandon, arching his back, then leans forward a little to pin Brandon's hands above his head, rolling his hips. "Don't come," Nick says.

Brandon's dick gives the obligatory twitch; it's really amazing, Brandon reflects, that he hasn't got used to this yet. He's still not bored by the way it makes him feel. Nick playing along still feels unexpected, even as Nick grinds down on his dick, sweat dripping off his chest onto Brandon's face.

"Sorry," Nick says.

Brandon shakes his head. "I don't care– keep going," and Nick takes him at his word, rocking back and back and back on Brandon's dick and rising, riding Brandon for what simultaneously feels like forever and barely any time before Nick's jerking and coming in spurts all over Brandon's belly and chest.

"Fuck," Brandon says, as Nick tips forward and collapses half-on, half-off him. Then, "Can I – Nick –"

Nick rouses himself enough to ease his way off Brandon, then pats him on the chest, come-clumsy. "Nah, not right now," he says, easily. "Wait until tonight. You can fuck me again, and maybe you can come then."

From somewhere very distant Brandon hears himself make a sound he barely recognises. "Fuck," he says. "I really love you, you know?"

He pretty immediately wants to go for the pillow next to himself and smother himself to death; instead, he manages to turn his head enough that he can see Nick's face out of the corner of his eye but isn't actually looking at him directly.

Nick is sort of smiling, and looking at the ceiling. "Yeah," he says. "I know." He's quiet for a moment, and then he says, "You should come and visit me this summer, Saader."

Brandon swallows. "Yeah," he says. "I'd like that."

*

EPILOGUE

Brandon gets home after skate, kicks his shoes off and heads straight for his laptop, flipping it open. The Isles play at home today too, and Nick usually beats him back from skate. 

Sure enough, when Skype opens the dot by Nick’s face is green. Brandon grins, and hits call. 

The video pops up with Skype’s weird bubbly noise and Nick appears, beardy and tired, rubbing his eyes. “Hey, buddy,” Nick says.

“Hey, babe,” Brandon returns. “Napping already?”

“I stayed up for you,” Nick says. “So, you know, whip it out.”

“The romance is gone,” Brandon says. He picks up his laptop and walks backwards to his bed, flopping across it sideways with his head in his hand. He goes for his fly but just rubs his hand over it, getting himself hard through the fabric. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick says. “How was your day, it was good, how was mine, it was good, you went to skate, I went to skate, Shawzy was annoying, Johnny was talented, we’ve both got games tonight and it’s been like a week and I’d really like to see your dick already.”

Brandon laughs. “Okay,” he says. “If you insist.” He pushes the laptop further away, far enough to give Nick a bit of a view, and unzips, kicking his jeans down and off while he’s at it. He fists his cock, presents it to the screen showily. 

“There we go,” Nick says. “Hi, I missed you.”

“This you missed?” Brandon says. He starts stroking. “You better get to the dirty talk or I’m leaving you.”

“Uh-huh,” Nick says. 

He looks pretty confident for a guy who’s usually pretty shy, but Brandon really can’t disagree. “This isn’t a free show, you know,” he tries. 

“Hmm,” Nick says, and then he’s sliding back far enough that Brandon can see that he’s naked and hard, too, stripping his cock fairly quickly.

Brandon’s mouth waters. “I want to suck you,” he says. “I really miss that.”

“I miss it too,” Nick says, and he’s starting to breathe faster. “If you were here I’d put you right here,” and he pats his thigh. Brandon can imagine it, kneeling between Nick’s legs, his mouth on his dick. “You’d suck me off,” Nick says, “and then I’d get you to sit there as long as you could, stroking yourself – maybe I’d get hard again, maybe not –”

“Fuck,” Brandon says, tightening his grip. “I’d wait for you, I’d wait until –” He can tell that Nick’s close; he might have gotten himself worked up before Brandon arrived. 

“I know,” Nick says, “You’re so good for me, I miss you so much – I’d get you up on the bed and just touch you – you’re so hot when you’re waiting, you don’t even know –” he trails off, watching Brandon intently, and then gasps a little, coming all over his fist.

Brandon whimpers, and takes his hand away from his dick. 

“Oh, shit,” Nick says, and Brandon can see his dick twitch. “Seriously, I mean it, that’s so hot.” He stretches out for the tissues on the nightstand with a groan, and Brandon watches avidly as he flips over and tugs the laptop closer, face and shoulders and tufts of chest hair filling the screen. Nick looks sleepy again, eyes growing heavy-lidded, and Brandon’s suddenly tired, too. Massively turned on, but tired. He wiggles a little closer to his own screen.

Nick reaches out a hand towards the screen, and Brandon sighs. Skype sex is fine, great even, but he misses Nick’s hands on him, and getting his own hands on Nick. “I miss you,” he says. 

“I miss you too,” Nick says. “Not just your dick.”

“Good to know,” Brandon says with a faint grin. 

“And, uh, speaking of your dick,” Nick says. “Are you still, I mean –” He goes a little pink. 

“Yes,” Brandon says. “Yeah. I’m still.” He’s even redder than Nick at this stage, but he gets it out. 

“Okay,” Nick says. “Okay. Again with the hot.” He pauses. “It’s only a few weeks until I’m there.”

Brandon nods. “I know,” he says. “I can’t wait.” But, of course, he does.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story because of a joke about how the only austerity I can get behind is the kind I needed applied to Saad’s new deal with the Hawks. Then he got traded and I was really sad and nearly couldn’t finish it. I’ll miss him. Have some porn for good luck, Saader. 
> 
> I appreciate concrit; if you’d prefer not to leave it in public you can hit me up at labellementeuse at gmail dot com.


End file.
